Dark Priest
by Foolish Mortal
Summary: There are stories told in in the darkness of a wandering priest, an agent of an ancient organisation. He who kills, and he who sustains. Guardian. Murderer. A vampyre hunter of the Order of the Archer. Eventual TNT
1. Nightstalker: Ch 1

Dark Priest: Nightstalker, Chapter One

**Disclaimer: I do not own Juvenile Orion or any of its TCG characters. Therefore, I do not own Diavolo or Edward Albright either. **

We've been talking about an archaic century gothic vampire-hunting frilly-collar-wearing Tomonori-san in the Mindbreakers Anonymous forums. (If you haven't visited us yet, come check it out!) so I finally wrote down the weird fanfiction movie that's been playing over and over behind my eyes. I don't know what time period I'm shooting for so there may be many anachronisms. Curses, I like it better when it's AU and I can do as I please.

For those of you who are reading my other JO fics, I'm going to nerd camp for a month and therefore, will not be able to update till July 29.

Good news; I recaptured my inspiration for The Angel and I've written some more so hopefully it will be finished shortly after I get back. Courageous Fire is just in the stages of its infancy and (also, hopefully) the fifth and sixth chapters will be up, again, after I get back.

Dark Priest has three 'arcs' if you will. The first one is Nightstalker.

I'd like to give major huzzahs to Psycho Kitty, who helped me SO MUCH with Dark Priest and so, my dear, this chapter is for you:

* * *

"Ah, hello, Father." The innkeeper nodded to him courteously as he came in through the door. "Bad night, isn't it?"

As if in reply, a tongue of lightning flashed and sparked the darkness with the colour of a fresh bruise; a second later, a clap of thunder rolled ominously through the room. For an instant, the townspeople eating and drinking at the small pub paused and looked out through the windows curtained with rain. Then, the moment was over and the talk and clink of spoons and plates rose up again.

"Quite," the priest replied, raindrops clinging to his hair and spectacles. "I was wondering if you had a room available."

"But of course, Father," the man replied. He forced open a rusty drawer and rummaged around for a key. "Just sign the book." He shoved a tattered yellowing stack of papers in the priest's direction. The priest put down his baggage and adjusted his spectacles before leafing through the pile of records crudely bound together with rough black thread. He found an empty space and wrote scratchily with the wilting old quill he found near his elbow.

Innkeeper finally found the key he wanted and scanned the yellow page. "Father Tomonori Nakaura?" he said.

"Yes."

He nodded to him. "Well met, sir. Follow me."

-

The innkeeper stopped in from of a door at the end of a short musty-smelling hallway. "Here's your room."

Nakaura turned the key in its lock. The room was unlit and slightly dank with the moisture trying to seep in through the old brick and plaster. It was too dark to see, but there was what looked to be a bed, a chair, a writing table, perhaps.

"Supper is served down at the pub." The innkeeper thought of all the loud drunks and other assorted carousers leaning on the benches and spilling their ale. "But we can bring it up to your room if you'd like," he added hurriedly.

"Thank you, that's very kind."

"What would you like? We have good mince pie today and roast fowl-"

"Anything simple will do. Small portions. And tea."

The man nodded. "When do you want it sent up?"

"An hour, thank you."

Nakaura listened intently for the innkeeper's heavy footsteps fading away down the rickety staircase before he looked back into the room. Again, he felt something tingle at the back of his neck, just as when he had put the key into the lock. Slowly, carefully, he reached into one of the deep pockets of his long dark coat and drew out a silver cross the size of his hand and then the fine chain welded to the top of the cross. He deftly wound one end of the chain around his palm and held the cross between his fingers. Leaving his bags outside for now, he stepped inside the room and silently shut the door.

The darkness pressed upon him like a tangible thing, like a heavy cloth. Nakaura hit his foot on a table leg and tensed. The small sound seemed magnified. He could hear his own breath as loudly as the thunder outside.

"My master sends you greetings, Heir of Cain," a low murmuring voice came from somewhere beyond. Nakaura wheeled around blindly. The voice sniggered at his distress. "We killed the last one, you know. Is that why you're here?"

"Demon!" Nakaura hissed, his eyes narrowing.

"Yes-s," his enemy said sibilantly. "And you're a demon hunter." He watched Nakaura stumble against a chair. "Though not a very adept one, I see. Your predecessor, I should tell you, was a true warrior. My master enjoyed fighting him. He enjoyed pulling apart his ribcage to tear out his heart. He enjoyed hearing his screams."

"Your master is a murderer!" Nakaura shouted. The demon was trying to catch him off-guard, to find a weakness.

"Yes but after all, so are you."

The priest's lip curled. "You dare associate us with _you_? You're a scourge on this earth and it's our duty to eradicate you and your ilk in the name of God!"

"In the name of God?" The demon sounded disgusted. "Is that so? Would your God want his children to stain their hands with blood? Is that what your God is? Your god is nothing."

"We stain our hands to purify the earth. There is honour in that."

"Do you think so?" Nakaura sensed the demon getting ready to spring. He could hear the faint sounds of black wings unfolding. "Then which soldier of God are you?"

Suddenly, a cross spun out through the darkness like a bolt. The silver metal glowed milky blue, then hot white. Nakaura heard a wet crunch as the cross buried itself deeply in the demon's chest and it fell to its knees. Nakaura could feel his WIZ-dom power crackling through the air, weaving in through the fibres of his skin. By the light of the glowing cross, he could see a humanoid form, a tumble of brown hair, the claws protruding from slender aristocratic hands.

As Nakaura walked closer, the demon saw him silhouetted in a pearly glow. "You…you knew my movements from…from the instant you entered. All that stumbling about, that was…" The demon smiled sickly and blood ran out of his mouth. "You could see me in the dark."

Nakaura pulled the cross out with a wrench. The demon screamed like a wounded animal. Nakaura's fingers flicked towards his boot, and he pulled out a thin pointed dagger. He held it to the demon's throat. "Who is your master? Where is he?"

The demon's green eyes widened. "You…I've heard of you. I've heard…heard your name…whispered." He went on with difficulty. "A priest. Feared…who sees in darkness…I know your name…"

"Who is your master?" Nakaura said again, sharply.

"Blindchild!" the demon sputtered. "You're Blindchild! A-h-h…"

Nakaura waited, his dagger ready. The demon was silent for so long that he thought he had killed it. He could hear the rain beating its fists against the glass windowpane. The wind picked up.

"You…" the demon said finally. His voice sounded weak. "The other was…was…a novice- Master! Master, you knew who he was and you…sent me…to him." The demon grunted. "But my master will…come for me…and…he will…pluck out your…accursed eyes…"

"Not if he is dead," Nakaura whispered. The demon laughed, a terrible gurgling sound.

"Fool," he rasped. "He is…already dead."

"_Vampyre_," Nakaura murmured as his grip on his knife tightened. The demon laughed again and slumped to the floor.

Nakaura seized him by his hair and pulled him back up but it was too late. He was dead. Giving a shout of frustration, the priest rammed his knife into the demon's heart and twisted the blade to finish him cleanly. As he wrenched it out, he could see blood on his gloves. _Would your God want his children to stain their hands with blood?_

"You know nothing of my god," Nakaura said gruffly and let the demon crumple to the floor. The back of his neck prickled again, and he gave the delicate chain a flick. His cross snapped up, still bloody, and floated in the palm of his hand. He could feel himself begin to glow.

A dark shadow alighted by the window. "I do not come to fight you, WIZ-dom," it said in a voice that reminded Nakaura of autumn leaves rustling on a current of wind. "I come only for what is my master's property."

Nakaura nudged the demon's body with a leather boot. "Take him then, and get you gone."

The other demon dropped down into the room and flung the body over his shoulder. "You will pay for this with your blood, priest."

"Who will collect this vengeance? Your precious master?"

"Yes," the demon said. "and he will tear that flippant tongue from your mouth."

"I doubt it highly," Nakaura retorted. "He is naught but a lower Darklore."

"He is Master Diavolo," the demon hissed angrily. "It is a name you will scream when you beg for mercy."

"Your kind have no mercy," Nakaura said. "But I do, so go now before it wears too thin."

With a last baleful glare, the demon walked to the edge of the roof and spread its wings, taking off into the hellish thunderstorm.

Nakaura smiled faintly, the rain bathing his face. "Master Diavolo, eh? Thank you for your information; I killed one of your comrades for it in vain, but it seems that Darklore underlings have loose jaws." He shut the window.

He found a striker and lit the lamps in his room. He didn't need light to see, but it comforted him, made him feel more…human. He surveyed the damage as he looked around; nothing seemed to be broken or marred but there was a dark stain on the floor. When he opened the door to retrieve his baggage, he was surprised to find it still there but then again, it was a rather unlucky thing to steal from a man of God.

As he was opening one of the small suitcases, he heard someone knock on the door. Hurriedly, he placed one of the bags over the dark stain and stripped off his bloody gloves and jacket, throwing them somewhere unnoticeable. He answered the knock.

"Your supper, Father," a large young woman said, hefting the tray as easily as a leaf. He let her in, thanking her.

"Here then," she said as she eyed the fireplace. "They didn't even build up a fire for you?" She got to working on it.

"I…didn't know it was supposed to be."

"Well there's no point letting you freeze to death before you even set foot in our church."

Nakaura looked at her curiously. "I beg your pardon?"

"Aren't you the one taking the place of our other priest?"

Nakaura shook his head. "No, I'm just passing through. What's this about?"

Her brown eyes broadened and her freckles stood out as her face paled. "Why, he was found dead."

"Dead?"

She nodded. "Ayeh, and terribly too." She shook her head. "Who would do such a thing?"

"I don't know. What was this priest's name?"

"Father Edward Albright."

Nakaur sucked in a breath, pretending to be shocked by this sudden news. _So you killed our agent Albright, did you? Edward Albright. Goldshield._

"You look like you've seen your ancestor's ghost, Father," she said. "Did you know him?"

Nakaura nodded. "He was part of my order." He sighed. "Edward. I can't believe he's dead."

"I'm sorry, Father."

Nakaura nodded and clapped his hands together decisively. "In any case, since I'm already here, I suppose I should send word to the order, see if there's anything I can do."

She smiled. "Thank you; we would appreciate it greatly."

As soon as she left, Nakaura undid the snaps of one of the suitcases and unwound a roll of cloth with a roll of tubes sealed up with stoppers. He chose one and unplugged it, swirling the clear liquid inside. Shifting his other suitcase, he unearthed the dark bloodstain underneath.

"Let the holy water cleanse it," he whispered and tipped a drop of the clear liquid onto the stain. There was a flash of blue light. The floor was clear again.

He did the same with his gloves and jacket. He dabbed some of the liquid on a cloth and burnished his dagger and cross till they gleamed. Emptying half of the tube into the water in the washbasin, he gave his face and hands a thorough scrubbing, feeling the holy water tingle as it did away with the flecks of blood on his forehead, his cheeks. As he was washing at his chin, he stopped and looked into the cracked mirror. He undid his high collar and then the white cravat at his throat; it fell away, revealing a tall metal band that collared his neck. He ran his fingers across the line of tiny runes that were etched down the side. They flared yellow for a moment then faded. With a faint click, the collar opened and he removed it, washing his neck. His skin had become tough there with the constant chaffing of the smooth metal.

_The _Vampyre_ Diavolo, _he thought to himself and carefully dried his skin before putting the band back in place and tying the cravat carefully over it. WIZ-dom issued all their agents with demon-hunting weapons but only its _Ordo Sagittariī _received this, a high collar that protected the neck. The wide cravat made of strange material that guarded the jugular vein. _Ordo Sagittariī. _The Order of the Archer. WIZ-dom's specialised vampire-hunting section.

Their soldiers were spread far and thinly. Nakaura suspected that he did not even know a tenth of the members and he had not met any of his known associates on his travels except for a friend in the north. And now, Edward Albright, though it was too late.

Nakaura sighed. He would have to send a letter to WIZ-dom headquarters informing them of the priest's death.

He rebuttoned his high collar. Time to get to work. He unpacked a slender brush from the pockets of his suitcase. Dipping it in the tube, he began to sketch runes on the splintery doorframe, working from the base of the left side to the right; his hands moved on their own, the fingers knowing the different sigils by heart.

"I cast a guard over this door," he whispered. "None who mean me ill shall pass. None born of darkness shall pass. I bar this way; none shall touch me. My defence shall be stronger than a thousand shields of steel, more resilient than layers of diamond, more powerful than a host of erupting stars."

His spell went on and on, his voice steady and confident. He had to stop in the middle to retrieve a fresh tube of holy water and he could feel the magic trying to twist away and escape but he caught the wayward threads of it in an iron grip. He returned with the tube then continued. Finally, the runes ended at the bottom of the right panel.

"_Incipi_. _Dei Benedictio._" he whispered and the sigils painted with holy water flared once, like an intricate golden design set into a throne, and then he felt the spell weave itself together into a clean knot.

Satisfied, he went to the window to do repeat the process.

As he finished, he felt his exhausted limbs weigh him down. He'd been travelling since yesterday. The simple ward on the door and window had taken him twice as long and the fatigue that hit him after he had whispered the last of the spell was worse than usual. _If this Diavolo really _is_ after my life, I'm easy pickings in the state I'm in. _

Nakaura hung his jacket and robe over a chair, unlaced boots clouded with travelling dust, and took care to put his cross and chain under his pillow. Just as a precaution, he checked one of his revolvers to make sure was loaded with silver bullets and then hid it in the drawer of the nightstand next to the bed before falling back against the sheets. He lay on his back with one arm pillowed behind his head and reached over left-handedly to the tray beside him for a roll of bread, which he ate slowly as he stared up towards the ceiling.

_So, Goldshield is dead,_ he thought dispassionately. _I wonder whom they'll send to replace him._ He finished the roll and picked up a tart. _Bluepin is a good choice or maybe Tallowick. _He sighed and turned over but froze as he heard a rustling sound. They wouldn't come after him so quickly, would they? It was unheard of; the Darklore would need to regroup, come up with a new strategy. Otherwise, it was suicide and the master that ordered it, a fool. Eventually, he realised that it was only the sound of his black trousers against the blanket and laughed at himself unashamedly. _When you're a hunter, Paranoia is your bosom friend._

Eating the tart crumbs from his fingers, he sat up and poured himself a cup of hot tea. He tossed it back thirstily and refilled his cup. As he leaned forward, the metal band fell against the back of his neck. He paused and touched it, frowning.

He remembered from long ago, steady gold eyes like two amulets. They narrowed derisively as they flicked toward his guns, his cross. His cravat. "You've been transferred," he murmured in a voice the colour of deep soft velvet. Nakaura hurled his cross at him but the man side-stepped it easily, his long dark hair swinging across his shoulder. "The Order of the Archer, isn't it? _Ordo Sagittariī._" He chuckled. "My my, now I'm your main priority, eh? Flattering."

"Shut up!" Nakaura shouted at him and the cross went spinning. This time, the man was too slow. The edge of the silver cross nicked his cheek.

He touched the spot and examined his bloody fingers with some amusement. "You just might be worth my time, Blindchild." The rings in his ears glinted in the moonlight as he tilted his head speculatively, his eyes on Nakaura's cravat. "So, they've but a collar around your neck, have they? You really have become a WIZ-dom dog."

The young priest glared at him. The man laughed softly. "Ah, Blindchild, you're far too pretty when you're angry."

"Why don't you fight back?" Nakaura snapped. Suddenly, he was staring into the man's face. The vampire had his arm in a viselike grip. How had he breached such a distance in the blink of an eye?

"Do you want me to fight back?" he whispered, his good mood gone. He pushed Nakaura back roughly. "Don't presume too much," he said darkly. "When I said you might be worth my time." He turned his back on Nakaura, black wings beginning to sprout from near his shoulder blades. The priest pulled out his gun and fired. The vampire shifted slightly and the silver bullet whizzed past his ear.

"Don't test your luck, novice!" the vampire barked out from over his shoulder. "I could kill you right now! Go on. Train, learn your skills, and come back when you're ready to face me. I haven't used my power against you yet because we met when you were a demon-hunter, but now you're an Heir of Cain and I _will_ destroy you!" Suddenly, he turned and smiled, bowing like an aristocrat. "Till then, Tomonori."

As he straightened, he flew off from the roof in one swoop. His great wings seemed to blot out the moon.

Nakaura looked up into the sky furiously. "Tracer!" he roared.

_I was so much younger then, _Nakaura thought, sitting back against the headboard and resting a hand over his eyes. _I was a dunce. _

He had only been a newly ordained vampire-hunter then and didn't know who had almost killed him. When he had mentioned the incident to one of his instructors, all hell had broken loose in the WIZ-dom training buildings. He had been questioned again and again. 'When did it happen?' 'How could the vampire have withstood the powerful building wards?' 'What possessed you to climb up to the roof in the dead of night when you should have been sleeping in the dormitory?'

Nakaura couldn't explain; it was as if something had pulled at him, drawn him, and suddenly he found himself tying up his cravat and lacing up his boots. Suddenly, he found himself standing on the roofing shingles facing _him._ Perhaps something _had_ possessed him.

He had very calmly told his interrogators that he'd seen the vampire before, but they had shouted and caused more hell nonetheless.

It had been on a standard demon-hunting mission when all of a sudden, Nakaura had found himself cornered and surrounded by a host of humanoid ordinary-looking demons and realised that he had walked into a trap. Still, he had improvised and easily held his own, swinging his cross in a circle around him as a protective forcefield and using a burst of his power that felled all of his attackers instantly.

As he stood there among the stench of steaming demon corpses, breath coming in raggedly, he spotted a tall dark figure looking over the scene from atop a nearby building. Nakaura had not even felt his presence.

The man grinned in a feral way and plucked the cigarette from his mouth. "Not bad, child," he said, gesturing with the cigarette. "You'll bear watching."

As a novice, he had seen him time and again. He soon grew to hate him. He hated the teasing, the subtly barbed comments, the word traps, and the flippant grin. More to the point, though Nakaura didn't want to face it, the thing he hated the most was fear. He feared this strange man who appeared and disappeared so swiftly and remained unaffected by the worst of Nakaura's attacks. He feared the power behind that jaunty smirk.

"Are you mad?" one of the interrogators had burst out when Nakaura had blandly related some of the attacks he had thrown at Tracer. "Nakaura, do you know who you are dealing with? He's a vampire!"

"Vampire," the young priest repeated faintly. _My enemy. My quarry._

"Not just any vampire, but a Veti, Tracer. He controls strange powers we've never seen; anyone who has tried to hunt him has turned up dead."

"And he let you live," one of the others had murmured wonderingly.

-

_Why?_ Nakaura thought as he drank off his third cup of tea. _Why did you let me live?_ He set the cup back on the tray with a clink and began to pare an apple. _I was a mere demon-hunter, back then. I was only a silly novice-boy._

"_Anyone who's tried to hunt him has turned up dead."_

Nevertheless, though Nakaura travelled Europe exterminating vampires seemingly at random, he always travelled in an alarmingly clear direction.

The direction of Tracer.

_But am I hunting him or is he hunting me? _The thought sent a chill down his spine.

Why had he let him live? Nakaura had known Tracer long enough to suspect he was...well, bored. He had been blighting the earth long before Nakaura was even born and would be around long after the priest died or the vampire killed him.

Tracer was quite an old vampire. Ancient. He was one of the _Veti_. The Old Ones.

And he was bored.

He needed a challenge, an enemy; someone to provoke, someone to fight.

For the time, Nakaura was that someone.

After a time, Nakaura would be one of the dead ones.

Instead of the prospect frightening him, the priest felt a small thrill in his stomach. _Maybe I need a challenge too, _he admitted reluctantly.

And he was looking forward to it, this final battle with Tracer, just as he knew the vampire was waiting for the day, as well.

Tracer had engaged him in a few fights through the years, probably to see how he was coming along. Nakaura was pleased to notice that the vampire had steadily begun to use increased amounts of power against him as the fights went on.

Perhaps, Nakaura sometimes thought, Tracer had seen potential in him that first time they had met. Perhaps he had wanted the priest to be inducted into the Order of the Archer.

A flash of memory glued itself onto his eyes: Tracer, bowing to him, "Till then, Tomonori."

_Tomonori. _The priest's face flushed with rage. When the vampire had accused him of being presumptuous, he was not the only one of the two.

"…_now you're an Heir of Cain…" _ Tracer was not the only one who called him that; it seemed to be the epithet all Darklore used for vampire-hunters.

Cain. The Biblical figure who had killed his own brother.

Nakaura wondered what it meant.

He covered a jaw-cracking yawn and realised he was seeing sleepy rings around the candles. He placed his tray outside the door and extinguished the wicks in the lamps. Nestling between the coarse dark blankets, he fell asleep listening to the rain.

* * *

Ha, I love writing gothic. And my most popular stories are romantic angst. Therefore, gothic romantic angst!

Thank you, Latin, for making all sorts of boring things sound cool with your Latin-ness.

Just as I never really knew Itsuki until I made him my main character in Courageous Fire, I never sounded the depths of Nakaura until Dark Priest. He's all cool and…vampire hunt-ified.

Edward Albright: Order of the Archer. Dig it.

FM: (poke)

Edward: What? Oh yeah, forgot; review please, people!

FM: Thanks. Now go back to your grave.

Edward: What grave? I was horribly mutilated…

FM: Just go away.


	2. Nightstalker: Ch 2

Dark Priest: Nightstalker: Chapter Two

-

**Disclaimer: I do not own Ryo Ashihara.**

Now, I look at the first chapter and I hit myself in the face.

Edward: You fool! You revealed too much at once. The first chapter is supposed to be a light introduction and you bogged it down.

FM: But…I _am_ a fool; I'm Foolish Mortal for gadsake.

Edward: (gestures violently with cross) No excuses!

FM: (nervously soothing) Okay…calm down. Just put the cross away, Ed. We can be friends, right? Er…look! It's a distraction!

Edward: Not falling for that.

FM: Er…look, it's a hot nun!

Edward: (turns around) What?

FM: (scampering off) Run AWAY!

_Note_: Those of you who are reviewers for The Angel…that's marshmallow fluff. Dark Priest and C.F are…not marshmallow fluff. They are, well, _dark_ and more graphic than The Angel, as you have seen in the first chapter of D.P. Just letting you know so it doesn't come as a big shocker.

Also, I wrote this while I was at nerd camp so if the style is disjointed and weird, I blame it on the five to six hours of sleep we got every day…in the _summer_! I mean, I get just about that much sleep during the school year but this was so much more intense than school.

Yeah, enough complaining, that camp rocked! Okay, storytime:

* * *

-  
Nakaura passed through the little town's marketplace on his way to St. Alnoth Church. The residents were very proud of the industrious hub, as he noticed when his guide could not stop pointing out the various sites and extolling their virtues. Nakaura tried to make some interested noises and hope they got to the church before sundown. He couldn't even remember this town's name; they were all the same to him: Oaktroth, Aterbrook, Greenwrest. He had passed through countless villages like this one. He had forgotten them, the people had seldom forgotten him. A quiet priest, the people whispered. Kept to himself, scrupulously polite. He would leave as he had come; he was like a shadow ghosting away on an eddy of wind like a leaf. 

But when he had gone, the villages suddenly noticed a decrease in missing loved ones, empty unearthed graves, and dark tales of monsters prowling the streets at night.

He's god-touched, they said about the anonymous priest. He's blessed us.

Then the elders would touch their fingers to their brows and then to their hearts, murmuring, _magnus deus a caelo_.

In the villagers' memories, dark eyes faded like ink across old parchment, black hair shifted and changed, and facial features rearranged themselves. Nevertheless, the people still preserved the idea of Nakaura, no matter how radically the picture of him on their eyelids changed.

-

St. Alnoth was a shabby affair. Though Albright had taken meticulous care to polish the candlesticks, clean the windows, and air out the rugs, it _was_ only a small town's church, after all. It was still only a small cramped space with dusty cracked wood panelling and broken windows.

Still, Nakaura thought, the sunlight from the single weather-worn stained glass window lit up the dust motes in the air like jewels. The untrained enthusiastic choir sounded more beautiful than the highest choir of heaven.

His guide touched the edge of his hat. "Good luck to you, Father; there are many of us uneasy about an unconfined murderer who would kill a priest. I hope Father Albright will be avenged, poor man.

Nakaura nodded. "God will serve His justice."

He thanked his guide, gave him a coin, which the man refused and a parting nod, which he gladly returned.

The sound of Nakaura's black boots were strange and oddly loud in the small church. He quietly walked down the aisle and received murmured greetings and small grateful glances but he was alone in the pew he settled in. Looking around, he saw families and friends sitting elbow to elbow and their lips moving silently in prayer. An elderly couple sat in front of him and beyond them, a younger man and his three children, whom their patient mother kept scolding kindly for their rowdiness and jostling.

Suddenly, the wooden bench under Nakaura felt was cold and unforgiving. He could feel the vacuum of the empty spaces on either side of him; they roared in his ears, crushed in to smother him.

_I could never have a friend, _he thought fiercely. _I could never think to take someone with me; how could I ask a person to go through the atrocities I have in my work? How could I bear to put someone else in constant danger?_

But though this sounded noble and selfless, he knew he did not want to feel obligated to protect his companion. It would be a nuisance. A hindrance. A vulnerability. It was best not to attach oneself to anything.

Shrugging it off, Nakaura bent his head down to pray for a small time.

An explosion detonated behind his eyeballs. Clawing diseased blackened hands dug into his mind and eyes. Gangrene blighted fingers tightened around his throat and pointed dirty nails infected the wounds they inflicted.

_I know you, Heir of Cain._

Blood was running into his eyes. Something had shattered his skull and was pulling out the bone fragments slowly, painfully.

_You cannot kill me. I will pluck out your eyes, Blindchild._

His brain was swollen and engorged with blood; the rotting lobes were purple and black.

_Help me, _the priest whispered. A prayer?

_Help me, _Nakaura thought again, desperately. Then, before he blacked out, _Tracer…_

"Father, are you ill?"

He felt the cool wood against his cheek. His head was ringing unpleasantly. "What…"

It was the old woman in the pew in front of him. Her old dark eyes took in his pale face and dazed eyes. "Must be the heat. We have a fountain in the middle of the square; a cool drink will do you much good."

The priest thanked her and walked out in great strides that would not reveal the stagger to his step. Rushing to the side of the church near the conservatory, he found a drain gutter and dry-retched into it, his body trembling.

St. Alnoth had been tainted, utterly horrifyingly dirtied. He thought of the townspeople inside. Their prayers were no longer going towards God, for the church had ceased to be a holy place; it was barring the songs and prayers, draining them into nothingness. The demon from yesterday had lied to him after all; Diavolo had not killed Edward Albright directly. Instead, he had committed _foedus_ against him. Nakaura had seen it before in other homicides involving Darklore and people of the church.

_Foedus._ The victim was tortured and raped; then, the murderer would slit the victim's throat and spill the blood over the alter, crucifix, and four corners of the church. Afterward, the body was hacked apart and buried in an unmarked place, without ceremony.

This had been Edward Albright's own church and he had carried WIZ-dom power in his blood so the effect of the _foedus_ on the building was strong and tenacious.

_You made him suffer, _the priest thought, gritting his teeth. _You kept him alive to the very end, you bastard._

Nakaura retched again, wiping his forehead with a pale clammy hand. Birds twittered through leafy boughs that chattered restlessly in the breeze. Nakaura felt hollow. _This town doesn't seem so peaceful, anymore. _He shook his head. _Goldshield, you didn't deserve this. The Order. I have to alert the Order and have them send in reinforcements to cleanse the church- this is beyond me._

As he looked back towards St. Alnoth, the wind began to bluster through the open windows and in its echo Nakaura thought he heard the sound of Edward Albright's screams.

-

"Blindchild, we'll take charge of purifying the grounds." The administrator raised his straight eyebrows; his grey eyes were bitter and grim. You find Goldshield's killer, understand? Those are your orders from the _Sagitariī _council- your top priority is finding this vampire Diavolo and saving his soul from damnation."

"Saving his soul!" Nakaura burst out and some of the black-robed WIZ-dom priests turned from their inspection of St. Alnoth to look at him curiously. He dropped his voice. "Administrator, with all respect rendered, Diavolo committed an act that is beyond pardon! Look at what he did to Goldshield-"

"-It is not your place to judge the souls you liberate! You will carry out your orders." The administrator scowled at him darkly. "I've let you off from reproach countless times, despite your eccentric methods and liaisons with the _vampyre_ Tracer, but don't think I'll stay my hand if you mutiny."

_Liaisons? _Nakaura thought in outraged astonishment. "And you've never forgotten to remind me of it," he answered back. "We took a dislike to each other ever since we were both novices, Ashihara, but don't bring it into this investigation. You do your job and I'll do mine."

"Easily done," Administrator Ryo Ashihara spat out and abandoned Nakaura to his own devices.

The priest returned to his room in the tavern and began to inspect his weapons. The days he had been waiting for the _Sagitariī _priests to arrive had been spent collecting information about Diavolo, his whereabouts, and power base. The vampire had a fair amount of lower Darklore minions but they could be dispatched easily. What Nakaura really wanted to know were Diavolo's habits and personality, though the brutal handling of Edward Albright had seemed to shape the vampire's character simply enough. Nakaura had discovered that the more he knew about his quarry's mind and its flaws, the easier it was to carry out his hunts. He needed to know more about Diavolo.

He thought again about the horrific _foedus_ the agents of the Order were battling down at St. Alnoth's. He shuddered.

Five years ago, he had Tracer had faced down in an old abandoned church near a deserted section of the city. For a time, it seemed as if they were both matched up well, exchanging blow for blow. Then suddenly, in a frightening burst of his true power, the vampire had thrown his opponent across the room and into a row of pews. As the priest had felt the pain scream through his nerves, he knew some bones had been broken.

_I lost again_, he thought with rage.

Tracer was smirking down at him. "The time and location are almost too convenient," the vampire remarked. "It seems Fortune his tipped her hand in my direction."

_What is he talking about? _Nakaura had thought hazily but abruptly his blood ran cold. _We're in a place of God and I'm in no condition to fight back. _He had the numb realisation that he was about to die horribly.

Thankfully, Tracer decided to renege on his threat and left him lying there against the pews.

Nakaura was weak from pain and relief and he staggered haphazardly after his enemy. "Would you?" he demanded as Tracer neared the door. "Would you commit _foedus_ against me?" _I'd kill myself before he had the chance._

Tracer stopped in midstride. The church seemed strangely silent and all Nakaura could hear was his own laboured breathing.

Tracer finally spoke. "You have a broken arm, multiple broken fingers, a mild concussion, and various wounds and bruises. Go home, priest." He left without another word.

_Home, _Nakaura thought bitterly. _After the business with Diavolo, I'll be gone. It's because of you, Tracer, I can never have a proper place to stay. A permanent place. My home is the wanderer's road._

_Then why do you hunt me? _Tracer's voice whispered. The ghost of the vampire's voice was always standing ready to torture him.

_What else am I to do? You are a vampire and I am a vampire-hunter whose brethren you've slain. Why do I hunt you? It is my calling._

_That's not it, _Tracer chided.

Nakaura thought. _I…I only feel that I must, that it is a duty I was made to fulfill. I feel drawn to it, cannot fight it. I must hunt you. I would go mad if I didn't._

_Then why do you rail at me when you yourself are to blame for your dilemma? _

_Because…because you are the reason for it. _

Then Tracer chuckled in the way that had always set Nakaura's teeth on edge. _If you could only listen to yourself._

_What? _Nakaura snapped.

_You don't know your own mind._

_What do you mean?_

Tracer laughed again. _Stop delaying and kill Diavolo; I'm going on ahead. You are falling behind, Tomonori. _His tone was disapproving.

Nakaura's reverie came apart like a delicately unstable glass sphere shattering. _Tracer?_

No answer.

Suddenly, he felt a calm hopeless lethargy come over him. He flopped down on one side of the bed, among his daggers and guns. His mind tugged at him reflexively to check the room's wards before he let unconsciousness claim him.

-

"_Do you know why you are here, Tomonori Nakaura?"_

"_No, sir."_

"_It is to purify you, save you."_

_The young boy did not understand this. "Where are Mother and Father?" he asked instead._

"_They shall not be returning."_

"_Where are they, sir?" Nakaura asked in distress. _

_The priest crouched down on his haunches to meet the boy's dark-eyed gaze honestly. "Do you know what hell is, Tomonori?"_

"_No, sir."_

"_It is the place people go when they've done evil things. It's a horrible realm where they suffer for all eternity. Do you want to go to hell, Tomonori?"_

"_Of course not, sir!" Nakaura was terrified of the picture the priest had painted._

"_Good, good." The man nodded to another clergyman who had just entered. "I think you'll do well here. From now on, you shall call me Father Stephano."_

_The second priest held the door open and gestured to Nakaura. _

"_Sir, what am-"_

"_-This is your home now. Welcome to WIZ-dom. God bless."_

_Nakaura followed the other priest out and then down the hallway. The doors shut behind him._

-

Something was pressing into his stomach. Consciousness came to him by degrees and dull aches bloomed on his chest, legs, and arms. One of his arms was flung out to the empty space beside him. As he shifted, he could feel metal clinking beneath him every time the mattress bounced. He looked sleepily to the window and the receding rays of sunset slanting through the panes made him shoot up. The day was fleeing to the horizon and darkness would soon give chase. He used the cover of darkness to hunt down the lower Darklore and extract information. And yet …'_Stop delaying and kill Diavolo.'_

'_You are falling behind, Tomonori.'_

_Perhaps it's time to pick up the pace, _Nakaura thought grimly.

* * *

- 

St. Alnoth

Feastday: November 25

700

Herder and hermit, mentioned in the life of St. Werburga. Alnoth tended cows on the lands of St. Werburga's monastery at Weedon, in Northhampton, England. He was badly used by a local official, earning a reputation for holiness and patience. Alnoth retired from active life and became a hermit. Two robbers accosted him in his hermitage, slaying him. He is honoured locally as a martyr, and his tomb at Stowe, near Bubrook in Northhampton, became a popular shrine for pilgrims.


End file.
